


Something There Is That Doesn't Love A Wall

by PepperF



Series: Neighbours AU [1]
Category: Community (TV)
Genre: F/M, jeff is a big jerk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 09:59:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4015480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperF/pseuds/PepperF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeff has a new neighbor, and she's really, really annoying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Neighbors AU, partially inspired by a few of these prompts: [AUs for when your OTP are both assholes.](http://jonahryan.tumblr.com/post/117050708072/aus-for-when-your-otp-are-both-assholes)
> 
> I've kind of mentally narrowed the age gap to approximately the actors' real ages, because this is my AU and I can do what I like so :P

Aha, caught in the act! "You! Stay right there!" he bellowed across the parking garage.

As he'd suspected, it was the woman who'd moved into the apartment below his a couple of weeks ago. He'd only caught glimpses of her, but it was enough to recognize her as she stopped in the act of opening the door of her cherry red Prius and turned to face him. As he strode closer, he was too annoyed to acknowledge that she was gorgeous, with a petite but curvy figure, big blue eyes, and a sweep of dark, glossy hair that would look awesome spread out across his sheets (okay, maybe he did acknowledge it and maybe he was kind of a pig, but at least he had the decency to keep those thoughts in the privacy of his head, unlike certain lawyers he might name).

She stood in the opened car doorway, and maybe he'd been a little too aggressive, because for a moment she'd looked scared. Then she straightened up to her full height – all five foot of it – and met his glare with her chin up pugnaciously, and he was left wondering if he was imagining things.

He came to a stop a little inside her comfort zone, so he could tower over her. "Stop stealing my parking spot!"

Emotions played rapidly across her expressive face: confusion, understanding, dislike. "Mister Twelve," she said, nodding. "I should have guessed."

"Ms Six," he replied frostily. "Are you aware that this is my allocated parking spot? And what do you mean, you should have guessed?"

"No it's not, and because Mrs Aritza-d'Silva warned me about you."

Mrs Aritza-d'Silva, the former tenant of number six. Jeff narrowed his eyes. "Her view was biased. She always hated me."

Ms Six rolled her pretty blue eyes. "She hated you because you drop your weights loudly on the floor at six-thirty every morning," she informed him. "For the record? I share her point of view."

"Yeah? Well she used to yell at me every time I saw her, so I guess we're even. And to return to my main point, _you_ should stop stealing my parking spot."

"She yelled at you to tell you to stop doing it, and it's _not_ your parking spot!"

"Well how was I supposed to know? I don't speak Spanish! And it is, it's part of my condo agreement."

"I bet you never stopped to ask her why she was angry with you, did you? And have you actually read your condo agreement? Because there's nothing in there about allocated parking. I know because I read it properly before I moved in!"

Jeff pointed at her. "Okay, one, I am going to check that because I think you're lying, and two, no of course I didn't stop to ask because I make it a point not to spend time talking to CRAZY WOMEN WHO YELL AT ME IN MY APARTMENT BUILDING!"

"WELL THAT SHOULD RULE ME OUT OF HAVING TO TALK TO YOU AGAIN!"

And with an angry swish of her hair, she ducked into her car and slammed the door. The engine revved angrily, and Jeff had to jump back so she didn't run over his feet.

\---

Through careful observation (read: stealing her post one morning) he learned that Ms Six's name was actually Annie Edison, which in his opinion was far too sweet for such a harpy. He also learned that she had a dentist appointment the following week, and that she'd signed up for that fitness thing with the watch that recorded your stats – he was tempted to keep it, but pink really wasn't his color. What was worse, it turned out that she was right: when he combed through the condo agreement, there was no mention of allocated parking, although he vividly remembered that the agent who sold it to him had shown him the spot that was supposedly his. He should sue, but he was dismally aware that he'd probably lose. As a lawyer, he really ought to have read the contract more closely.

Adding insult to injury, Ms Edison seemed to have a knack of getting to the spot before him. She left work early – or earlier than him, but it was maybe true that Jeff had got into the habit of staying late at the office, and of bar-crawling after work with Mark or Alan, but it was just that his place was so quiet sometimes that he got into creepy thought-circles like 'if I died, how long would it take for anyone to notice?'. But now, every time Jeff pulled into the parking garage, he found her shiny red car there, in HIS spot, and he had to grind his teeth and pull resentfully around to a different spot. There was an almost palpable air of smugness about her car, and he would swear she was parking at that jaunty angle just to mock him.

So he moved his morning workouts half an hour earlier, and increased the weight on his barbells.

It wasn't until a couple of weeks later that he remembered something else the agent had shown him: the numbers painted on the garage floor. It was five years since he bought the place, and he'd long since stopped noticing little things like that, but when he went to check that evening, there it was, under her car: worn and grimy, but definitely a number twelve. AHA!

He staked out the spot the next morning, and watched as she emerged from the lift, looking through her bag for her keys. Her long hair fell in loose curls around her face, and she looked soft and delicate in the early-morning light, and for a moment, he was almost tempted to drop it, and suggest that they start again. Maybe with coffee. He knew a decent place, just around the corner... But then she looked up and frowned when she saw him leaning on her car, her steps faltering for a moment before she strode on towards him.

"What do you want?" Her tone decided him: he didn't like her.

He beckoned her forward, and pointed to underneath the vehicle. "Look," he said. "Number twelve. That means it's mine."

She barely glanced at it. "That just means it's the twelfth parking spot," she said, dismissively. "Look around – they're all numbered. That doesn't mean it's connected to the individual condos, it means they started from one and worked their way up. God, why are you being such an asshole about this?"

Jeff's jaw tightened, and he crossed his arms. "Custom and practice—"

She scoffed. "Custom and practice! C'mon, I thought you were a lawyer – there's no law that protects your right to park in this spot just because it's 'custom and practice'!"

"Ah, but laws evolve to take custom and practice and whatever the current view of 'ethics' is into account, that's practically the basis of our entire legal system – or are you saying slavery was a-okay when it was legit?"

An outraged gasp came from her round, red lips. "You – you hyperbolic sophist! Get off my car, or I'll tell the super you're harassing me!"

Jeff pushed himself upright. "I'm willing to take this fight all the way, Ms Edison. Are you? Give in now, and I'll go easy on you."

"Get lost, jerkface," was her succinct response. 

It was only after she'd peeled angrily out of the garage that it occurred to him to wonder how she'd known he was a lawyer.

\---

That weekend, he spotted the cheery poster on the community noticeboard: clipart of a party hat and some streamers, liberally decorated with glitter glue and stick-on stars. In a disgustingly cutesy font with lots of unnecessary swirls and squiggles, it read: "FELLOW RESIDENTS! I'm having an APARTMENT WARMING PARTY next Saturday (11th)! Drop by anytime from 8pm until 11pm!!!" It was signed "Annie at #6", followed by lots of xoxoxo's.

So. That was how she wanted to play, was it? Get everyone else in the building on her side, act like he was the bad guy and she was such a goody-goody? Well, he'd show her. Oh yes, he would show her.

Next Saturday, he was in his apartment, listening to the music coming through the floor (which had begun at 8pm on the dot). At least she was playing some decent tunes, if a bit poppy for his taste. At 9.45pm, he was humming along to an old Britney song as he put product through his hair and examined the closeness of his shave. He gave himself a wink and a two-finger-gun salute in the mirror, and then went to grab a bottle of wine – decent stuff, none of that boxed crap – from the fridge. At just past 10pm, he was knocking on her door.

Annie opened it with a broad smile, which vanished from her face the instant she saw him. "You," she said, with loathing. "What are you doing here?"

"Hey neighbor," he said, holding up the bottle. "Gonna invite me in?"

She stared at him in silence for a long moment, and then rolled her eyes and walked away, leaving the door open. It wasn't exactly the warmest invitation he'd ever received, but he'd take it.

Her apartment had exactly the same layout as his, so it was a bit like stepping into an alternate universe in which his condo was painted in cheerful pastel green and pink (he had subtle tones of grey and brown, to set off his eyes), and was full of fabrics, knick-knacks, and people. He had to admit, the party was hoppin', in a relaxed sort of way. There were booze, snacks, and good music, and several people he recognized from having spent five years avoiding them in the hallway – he nodded tersely to the jerk who liked to leave the fire door propped open with a brick – mixed with some new faces, apparently her friends. One guy introduced himself as Annie's high school boyfriend's best friend and currently in film school, would Jeff be interested in a small role, possibly as a Jack Nicholson in 'The Witches of Eastwick' type? Jeff gave the kid his card, which in retrospect was probably a mistake, but his ego had come into play.

Other notables were the sharp blonde who introduced herself as "not interested", the high school boyfriend himself (a quarterback type, which got Jeff wondering if Annie had been a cheerleader), a woman about Jeff's age who was having an quiet but intense argument over the phone with her husband (Jeff slipped her his card and mimed 'call me!'), and the creepy bald guy who lived down the hall from Jeff and always stood too close to him in the elevator, even when they were the only two in there.

Beyond 'sweet, sweet revenge', Jeff didn't really have a plan – he was winging it, living on the edge, where he did his best work. He just had to keep his eyes open for the right opportunity. And after a conversation with Abed about the blonde, he had the inkling of an idea. So he waited until she and Annie were talking, and then sauntered over, shamelessly interrupting their conversation. "Aren't you going to introduce me?" he asked, figuring that brash and bold was the way to go.

Annie looked annoyed. "This is my friend Britta," she said, through clenched teeth. "Britta, this is the jerk who keeps harassing me in the parking garage."

"But I go by Jeff these days," he said. He didn't hold out his hand, pretty sure that Britta – there had to be some juicy childhood trauma behind that name – wouldn't take it.

"Jerk," she greeted him, with poisonous sweetness.

"So, I have a bit of a problem," said Jeff. "You see, I had this spinster aunt who died recently, so sad, and I'm in charge of handling her estate." Both women were looking at him with narrow-eyed distrust. "That's not the problem – I mean, she was like a mother to me, but life goes on, et cetera. The problem is, she had this cat." Britta's eyes widened. Annie glanced at her friend in alarm, sensing trouble. Jeff pressed his advantage. "She loved dear old Mr Tinkles like he was her own child. But now she's gone, I have to rehome him. I can't bring him here, much though I would love to, he's a precious reminder of my beloved aunt, but the condo agreement has a very strict no pets clause." Annie was glaring at him now, but Britta was drinking it in like a sucker. "It's a real shame. But I'm scared that, if I take Mr Tinkles in to a sanctuary, they'll probably put him down – I mean, the poor creature is elderly and half-blind and has to take a dozen pills every day, if he was a dog they'd shoot him. I was talking to the kid over there, the skinny one with the Inspector Spacetime obsession, and he mentioned that you, Britta, might know of some no-kill sanctuaries?"

Britta was already nodding earnestly. "Absolutely I do, it's horrible how some – oh my _god_ that was so lame!" She threw back her head and laughed. "Seriously dude, did you really think that would work on me? Annie was right: you really _are_ a douche."

Jeff frowned at her. Annie, on the other hand, was smiling at Britta like a proud parent. "I'm glad to see sympathy is alive and well," he said, annoyed.

"Oh god, really, you're going to keep it up? That's just too precious." Britta put her hand on Annie's shoulder. "I was tempted to let him run with it, see how far he was prepared to take the charade," she confided to her friend. "The only reason I stopped was because I could see this would end up with him adopting the oldest, most raggedy-ass cat he could find, and palming it off to me as the mythical Mr Tinkles. I was tempted to make sure that all the sanctuaries I know were suddenly, mysteriously full, so he got stuck with it, but that really wouldn't be fair to the poor cat."

Jeff ground his teeth as Annie laughed delightedly. "Oh, Britta," she said, fondly. "You're so bad."

"This isn't over," Jeff declared. Annie rolled her eyes.

"Come on, Jeff. Don't you think this is all getting a bit ridiculous? Let it go."

He held up his hands, not wanting to hear it. "No! No. I will have my revenge, and you will beg for mercy before I'm done."

He stalked towards the door, and glanced back once. She was watching him go, hands on her hips and lips pressed together in annoyance. She really didn't look in the slightest bit afraid.

\---

He toyed with the idea of moving his workouts even earlier, but that had the disadvantage of punishing him just as much, if not more. No, what he wanted was a way to annoy her in a way that would be enjoyable for him… 

He knew that Annie got up early on the weekends, to go out doing whatever it was she did – volunteering at old peoples' homes or collecting litter from the local park, no doubt – whereas he liked to sleep late. So he did what any sensible, revenge-seeking person would do: the rounds of his phone list.

On Friday night he invited around Sabrina, the big-lipped blonde with the kink for authority figures. She needed no encouragement to be loud in bed, but watching her try to work out how to use his coffee machine in the morning gave him actual pain, and he made a mental note to avoid her in future. On Saturday night he picked up Quendra-with-a-Q-U in a trendy bar, and took her back home for a couple of athletic rounds that definitely shook the bedposts. On Sunday, his luck with blondes continued when he ran into Amber, the step-daughter of one of his clients, at a local microbrewery he'd been meaning to try for some time. She was a bit too keen-eyed for his taste, though: as she clipped up her bra afterwards, she looked curiously at him. "Was that good for you? You seemed a bit distracted," she remarked.

He was guiltily aware that he had in fact been distracted, wondering if the sex was loud enough to keep Annie awake. He'd made a point of crying out yet another different name as he came, just to make sure she really got the point. "Um, yeah, sorry – work in the morning, you know," he said, and hurried her out.

He made sure to be up bright and early on Monday, so he could hover by his car and watch for Annie. She emerged from the elevator looking impeccable as ever, in black pants and tailored jacket over one of her jewel-toned blouses, her hair up in a loose bun that emphasized her delicate jawline, but when she drew closer he could see the dark circles under her eyes. When she saw him, she gave him an angry glare.

"You're a pig," was all she said. Jeff smirked, and decided to go for redheads next weekend.

\---

His loud debauchery came swiftly back to bite him in the ass. The weekend following Operation Redhead, he was catching up on some well-earned sleep when he was gradually dragged back to consciousness by a steady banging noise, interspersed with muffled moans. His first reaction was to smirk as he rolled over in bed, but then it dawned on him: the noise was coming from the apartment below. That was _Annie_.

He frowned and sat up, listening. Her bedroom was directly under his, which for revenge purposes had been ideal, but he was beginning to see there might be a downside. Whoever she was with, apparently he was really doing it for her. Was it possible she was faking it, just to piss him off? That she was down there, banging her own headboard against the wall and making those noises, all the while glaring at the ceiling? No – he was egotistical, it was true, but even he couldn't believe that.

Jeff stuffed his head between two pillows and tried to get back to sleep – but he was wide-awake now, too irked to comfortably drift off again. The pillows were enough to block out the moans, but the banging seemed to be coming through the floorboards, up the legs of his bed, and vibrating into his bones. The noises got louder, and faster, and Jeff gritted his teeth and hoped that the bed collapsed on them. And then it all went abruptly still, and he distinctly heard her voice crying out, "Vaughn!"

Jeff growled and buried his head deeper into the pillow, irritated beyond belief to find himself a little turned on. Images of naked Annie writhed through his imagination, with her head thrown back, cheeks flushed and eyes closed, gasping for breath as she shuddered through a magnificent orgasm. It was so unfair!

Later that morning, he lurked like a creepy stalker – he was fully owning that – around the corner from her condo door, watching as she kissed goodbye to this 'Vaughn' character. The guy was clearly an asshole; that much was clear from the obnoxious way he gently kissed her cheek and – ugh – made her giggle and blush. Even worse, it seemed this wasn't a one-time thing, because Jeff had definitely caught something about a date in their revoltingly cozy conversation. God, just when he thought she couldn't get any more annoying, she had to go and find herself a boyfriend! And not just any boyfriend, but one who wore a hippy necklace and surfer dude hair and made her come loudly, ten feet from Jeff's bed. And he was not going to admit that he maybe deserved any of this, he was not, because… because… because he wasn't, okay?

Sulking, he stomped away.

\---

When their paths crossed in the atrium two days later, as he collected his mail, he gave her a scowl, but she just returned a sunny smile, apparently oblivious to the fact that she'd ruined his sleep for two nights in a row (that date? Turned out to have been for the next night). It was confirmed: she was the _worst_. But Jeff could escalate with the best: from work, he phoned in a fake alert that got her car towed. That night, he parked in the number twelve spot with a feeling of smug pleasure.

His mail, it appeared, had been mistakenly redirected to Bettles, Alaska, and it was going to take two weeks for it to be fixed, and who knows how long to actually get back any letters that had gone astray. Did he have anything important due to be delivered, because he might want to alert the sender?

He retaliated by dribbling a basketball through his condo all weekend. ESPECIALLY when she was having sex with Vaughn.

Somehow, his Real World audition video made its way onto YouTube, and a link was sent anonymously to everyone at Hamish, Hamish and Hamlin (except the partners; at least she'd granted him that mercy). He had to hide out in his office for the rest of the week, and every time he walked through the open plan area, someone would start humming that damn song.

Her Tinder profile was a masterpiece, if he did say so himself. Rich, the offensively perfect doctor, was going to be so disappointed when he turned up for their date.

He wasn't exactly sure how or when she'd managed to change every number on his phone (not deleted, but _rearranged_ , so when he called "mommy" he actually got his mom – and boy had THAT been awkward). But he had to admit, he was reluctantly impressed. Had she hacked him somehow? Broken in? It was a mystery.

When they passed each other in the parking garage or the hallway, she drew herself up and glared at him, and he either smirked at her (when he was winning) or scowled (when she'd done something particularly evil to him). He was constantly fizzing with the need to do something horrible, just to get her attention. The sex with Vaughn got louder and more obnoxious, and he began to wonder if either of them was actually enjoying it, because quite honestly it was starting to sound like a porno.

He was also beginning to wonder what the hell he was doing, because it was beginning to feel like the only way this could end was with a giant, smoking hole in the Colorado landscape where the suburb of Greendale had once stood.

But after six weeks, the obnoxiously loud sex suddenly stopped: it seemed she and the filthy hippy had broken up. As far as he could tell, through some tactical stalking, she didn't seem especially sad – neither did she seem especially happy, but that might be because she always pulled _that face_ whenever she spotted Jeff. Still, he reined back his efforts to annoy her, because relationship breakups were painful (or so he'd heard). It was kind of a relief: he was running out of ideas that wouldn't actually get him arrested.

\---

And then, two weeks later, on an otherwise ordinary Friday night, everything changed.

_"Jeff? Jeff Winger?"_

Jeff pulled his phone away and stared at it, before putting it back to his ear and turning on his barstool so he was facing away from the music. "Annie Edison? Why the hell are you calling me?"

_"Look, please don't hang up; I realize this is going to be awkward, but I need your help."_

"Hah!"

_"More specifically, I need to retain your services. You're a defense lawyer, right?"_

Now she had his attention. He leaned forward, frowning. "What? Why?"

There was a pause. _"I've been arrested,"_ she said, with clear reluctance. And now he recognized the sounds he'd vaguely registered behind her voice – that was the old, familiar sound of a busy cop shop. A vague sense of delight suffused his being, but everything froze with her next quiet words. _"For s-soliciting. It's completely untrue, of course, there was an off-duty cop with a completely misogynistic attitude towards women trying to… Look, could you come and deal with this? Please? I think they really mean it with the one phonecall thing, and I didn't know who else to ask."_

Not half an hour later, he was in the Lincoln Square precinct, defending Annie Edison with all the eloquence at his disposal. "...and entrapment! If my client can't pick up a guy in a bar for some harmless fun between two consenting adults, then the terrorists have won!"

The desk clerk, at a nod from the duty officer, hurried to unlock the handcuffs. Annie watched Jeff with reluctant admiration, but wisely said nothing until all the paperwork to drop the charges was signed, and they were outside, breathing free Greendale air again. "You're really good at that," she said, as she got into his car.

"I know." Normally he'd brag more, bask in the moment, but he was too busy trying to unravel the confusing reaction he'd had when he saw her in the cell and, for one glorious moment, she'd looked at him like he'd arrived on a white charger, in full armor and wielding a sword. Weirdly, he'd not felt triumph at seeing her brought low – instead, he'd felt a cold, focused rage that anyone had DARED to lock up his...

…neighbor? Nemesis? What exactly was she to him?

The drive home was awkward and silent, both preoccupied with their own thoughts, but once back at the building, she invited him in. "Sure," he said, following her down the hall to her condo. They probably had things to discuss, although he couldn't think precisely what they might be.

"Would you like a drink?" she asked, as she opened the door.

He nodded automatically, and she dropped her purse and keys loudly onto the table as she strode across the room to the drinks cabinet – barely breaking stride to kick off her heels – and poured them both a good slug of some good scotch. She tossed back her first glass, and poured a second measure, which she savored with more appreciation. Jeff moved more slowly across the room to take his drink. He sipped it, watching her. She was tired and pale, a frown line etched between her dark brows, shadows under her eyes, hair slightly mussed and lipstick long gone. But she still looked like the classy dame in a 1940s film noir as she tipped a sliver of scotch into her mouth and held it there for a moment, cradling the glass against her collarbone. 

"That was the most humiliating experience of my life," she said. "And believe me, I've had a few."

"Yeah, well… if you're looking for a hook-up, probably best to avoid L-Street, it's kinda notorious," he suggested.

She grimaced, glancing at him. "Oh, don't worry, I won't ever be going there again!"

"Hell, any time you want a night of meaningless sex, you don't need to go to a bar," he said, with a crooked grin. "Just knock three times on the ceiling and I'll come running."

In his head, the words had sounded like a slightly tacky joke. He didn't realize how much he meant them until he heard them coming out of his mouth. She stared at him, wide-eyed, the breath frozen in her throat. There was a weird roaring noise in his ears.

They moved at the same time, setting their glasses down on the nearest flat surface. She tasted of scotch, and she moaned when he ran his hands up her sides and sank them into her hair… and he was gone, gone, gone.

He hadn't intended to sleep with Annie, any more than he intended to draw breath. There was no conscious decision, not like his usual conquests – although it felt less like an autonomic function and more like the climactic scene in an old movie. Still kissing her, he swept her up into his arms, bridal-style, which was ridiculous and over the top, but she'd made him feel like a hero for one brief, shining moment that evening, and he didn't want to let that go. Besides, he kind of thought it would work for her, a theory that was proven when she pulled away for a second to gasp, "Bedroom!"

He could do that. Conveniently, he even knew where it was. 

He used her feet to push the door open, and took a swift glance around, scoping the territory. Bed: check. Possible obstacles: white lace canopy (seriously?), pink and white string lights, and about a zillion throw pillows. For a moment, he was daunted. It looked like the bedroom of a Disney princess, or a serial killer, or a serial-killing Disney princess. But then she slid down from his arms, and started working feverishly at his shirt buttons, and he decided it was worth the risk.

They were an effective team, and in a matter of moments they were both nearly naked. Annie tugged off the throw, taking with it most of the pillows in one efficient move, pushed him back onto the bed, and climbed on top of him with the focus and determination she'd previously used to make his life hell.

Not one to passively sit back while a woman was grinding on him, Jeff unhooked her bra in one practiced move, slid it off, and cupped his hands around her breasts. She hummed in pleasure, holding on to his shoulders as he held first one breast and then the other to his mouth, squeezing and sucking and biting gently.

"God, yes, harder," was all she said.

"Nngh," was his eloquent response.

She was rotating her hips mindlessly in his lap, her head thrown back, and her hands smoothing through his hair and caressing his shoulders and neck. She hitched herself closer, eagerly pressing against his hard-on. She didn't seem to want to take it slow, and he was so totally on board with that plan. He could feel she was already wet, but he slipped his hand into her panties anyway, and they both groaned when his finger slid against her slick skin. 

"I want you NOW," she breathed, electrifying him.

A few frantic seconds later, with underwear and one foil package discarded, he was leaning back against her headboard, and she was sliding down onto him. She straddled his lap, legs folded under her for leverage as she rose and fell on his cock with impressive speed and grace – and god, this was even better than his fantasies. As she sped up and began to lose the rhythm, he leaned forward, supporting her with hands around her waist. She arched backwards, hips still working against him, with his lips on her spectacular breasts and her hair tickling his knees. "Oh god, oh god, oh god," she said, as she fell apart, shuddering around him. He followed moments later, pulling her up so he could kiss her frantically and without finesse, her name on a loop in his head as he pressed her down onto him with one hand on her tailbone so he could get even deeper inside her, there, there, _there_.

Afterwards, he slid bonelessly down into her bed, and she flopped onto her back next to him, arms splayed, panting. He was fully prepared to get up and leave, just as soon as he caught his breath and regained the use of his legs. 

When he woke up again, all was still and quiet and dark, and shit, how late was it? He didn't usually spend the night, but she was wrapped in his arms with her head tucked against his shoulder, and if he moved she was going to wake up.

He lay for a long time, staring into the dark and weighing the options. If he stayed… He pictured waking her with kisses, going for round two, and three, teasing her, driving her crazy, working out their differences in the best possible way… He groaned silently and closed his eyes. It was a tempting picture. But after that, though – what then? Christ, he'd keep running into her, and he pictured her face, angry and hurt, when she realized he was avoiding her, that he hadn't suddenly metamorphosed into someone she could date. 

It was inevitable. It was, right? He didn't want to have to deal with that on home ground, and he didn't want to have to move when it all got too awkward. So he should just slip out now, leave a note, something friendly but final, make it clear that this was a great night of hot, commitment-free sex, and nothing more. It certainly wasn't the start of anything. The key word here was 'meaningless'.

She rolled away from him, mumbling in her sleep, and suddenly he was free. It was a sign, he decided. He'd be a fool not to grab the opportunity to escape before this all got too heavy.


	2. Chapter 2

She didn't call. She didn't try to talk to him. When they ran into one another, she just smiled neutrally.

It was driving him crazy.

On Friday, they'd had fast but mind-blowingly good sex, after which he'd sneaked out of her bed in the middle of the night, leaving only a note (after ten minutes of agonizing, sitting at her breakfast bar in the dark, all he'd come up with was "Glad I could help, Jeff xoxo"). Since then… nothing. Which was good, of course – great! – but it was just that it seemed uncharacteristic of her. He'd pegged her as the girlfriend type, arrest record notwithstanding, and he couldn't understand why she wasn't being more… clingy? Needy? Hell, he'd thought their night together was worthy of at least a few days of girly pining (which would of course be unrequited, that went without saying).

He'd come home straight from work every night that week, ready to handle any fallout – but nothing. Was she messing with him? Did she think this was the way to get him to fall in love with her? WHAT WAS HER GAME PLAN AND HOW COULD HE THWART IT?

By mid-week, Mark had picked up on his distraction, but Jeff had covered it pretty well, he thought ("What? No, I'm totally listening! This has nothing to do with my stupid neighbor again, I don't know what you're talking about!"). By the end of the week, he was having vivid dreams of their night together, probably as a result of the mental torture to which she was subjecting him.

He went out with Alan on Friday night, with the straightforward intention of picking up a woman, any woman. But it was weird: someone had taken away all the attractive women in Greendale, and replaced them with ordinary, bland women – women he wouldn't look at twice in a supermarket (supermarkets were Jeff's acid test: anyone could look good under dim lights and alcohol, but it took someone special to look attractive under overhead fluorescents and cold sobriety). There were insipid blondes, dowdy brunettes – even the redheads looked trashy and overblown. It was spooky. So he went home early and alone, leaving Alan to his future harassment and/or paternity suit, and paced the living room, feeling deeply unsatisfied. He flicked through his DVDs, but nothing – not even the pornos – appealed. He stared into his fridge, but apparently he'd forgotten to buy anything resembling edible food recently. For five minutes, he contemplated eating the entire tub of Ben and Jerry's chocolate fudge brownie that he'd got stashed at the back of his freezer, but years of denial won out on that. Finally, he poured himself a large scotch, and slumped on his couch.

Ugh. He was better than this! He wasn't going to be brought to his knees by—

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

Jeff froze, glass halfway to his mouth. Was that… did she just… was she…?

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

Fuck, she _was_.

He took the stairs three at a time. He was only halfway along her hallway when she opened her door and looked out, her eyes widening dramatically when she saw him. "I wasn't sure if you were—"

"I am," he said, and kissed her.

Several activity-filled minutes later, she finished unbuttoning his pants, and slid her hand firmly down the front of his boxer briefs and around his cock, making him gasp. "I was promised," she said breathily, "a night of meaningless sex. I believe I was short-changed by several hours last time."

"One whole ni… oh _god_ , yes, just like that… night of meaningless sex," said Jeff, and shoved her blouse down her arms. She released his cock (which was bad) to take it off properly (which was good). "You're very demanding, you know."

"I am. Snap to it," she said.

"Yes, milady."

\---

She was lying in wait for him when he climbed out of his car on Monday night, and for a moment he thought it was the dreaded 'Where is this relationship going?' ambush – he had, after all, spent all of Friday night and a considerable chunk of Saturday morning in her bed, and at a generous estimate, they'd got maybe four hours' sleep. This fanciful notion, however, was quickly dispelled. "Hey, asshole! You didn't drop your weights on the floor this morning!"

Jeff paused, running the sentence through his head to see if it made more sense the next time around. Nope. "Whuh?"

"I got so used to it, I was using it as a second alarm!" she complained angrily, cheeks flushed an attractive pink. "But this morning, you didn't do it, and I overslept! I was late for work, you jag!"

"Uh… sorry?" This was a bizarre conversation, right?

"You should be! Because by lunchtime I'd started to worry that you were hurt, or sick, or you'd had a heart attack! You might have been lying up there, dead or dying, and I was the only one who would have known something was wrong, and I hadn't checked!"

"Okay, you know this is crazy, right? I just want to establish that. Because I never get sick, and the idea of me having a heart attack is nonsense, I mean look at me, this body is a machine—"

"A high-protein diet coupled with a high-intensity exercise regime such as yours increases the risk of heart attack," she snapped. "Anyway, I didn't say it was likely, I said I was worried!"

"I was trying to be considerate, you lunatic woman!" he threw back.

"Well, don't! It's weird! Just be your normal horrible self!"

"I will!"

A second later, she was pushing him back against his car, and he was hoisting her up so he could kiss her without getting a crick in his neck. Why did someone so freaking sexy have to be so short? And why was she wearing such a stupidly tight skirt if she was going to ambush him for sex? Honestly, she was so inconsistent.

He thought about how hot it would be to fuck her on the hood of his Lexus, and then he thought about security cameras. So – still kissing her, because not kissing her was a physical impossibility right now – he walked them to the elevator, hitting the button without looking. When they exited the elevator on his floor, she broke the kiss and glanced around, confused.

"I'm dragging you back to my lair," he growled. She made a desperate, needy sound in the back of her throat, and pulled his head back down, kissing him so hard their teeth clashed together. Despite the distraction of her… everything, he got the door open in record time, out of sheer determination to get her and his bed in the same place in the next thirty seconds. "Shall I give you the tour?" he teased as he pushed her inside.

She gave a frustrated huff. "Could you try not being a jerk for ten minutes?"

"Eh. No promises."

He ran his hands over her ass, and unzipped her pencil skirt, which slithered down to reveal a very sexy slip. He ran his hands over her hips, feeling the warmth of her skin through the silky fabric, and was hit once again by just how gorgeous she was. "Seriously, are you a gangster's moll or what?"

She laughed, and shook her head as she leaned up to kiss him again. "No, actually I manage a forensics lab."

"Oh." He was startled to realize that he'd not known that until now – that he knew next to nothing about her life. And he didn't want to, he reminded himself – he'd not brought her here to discuss her career, or her background, or whether she preferred cats or dogs and where in the world she'd most like to vacation. He didn't even LIKE her.

Except that wasn't true, was it? Because whilst the last four months had been frustrating and exhausting and infuriating, they'd also been fun as hell. Fighting with her was like downing three shots of espresso and a line of tequila slammers – it gave him energy, and it made him giddy, so much so that he was apparently losing touch with reality. Getting her into bed at last had been the icing on the cake, and piped across the top it read: HOLY CRAP WHO IS THIS WOMAN?

He broke away, and started to trail kisses down her throat, to give himself a little breathing space. The urge to run was rising rapidly, at war with his urgent need to get naked with her. _What could one more time hurt?_ , reasoned his libido. _When have I ever steered you wrong?_

Then she tugged on the slip, and it fluttered to the ground to reveal – oh god – lace hold-ups, and for better or for worse, his decision was made.

She was dangerous; she'd proven as much from the start. There was something about those innocent looks coupled with her ruthless nature that for some reason meant she was his own personal brand of crack. But he'd never felt it as much as he did when she was lying back in his bed wearing only those hold-ups, pale skin framed by a wave of dark hair. Even as he slid inside her, he found himself getting lost in her blue eyes.

Afterwards, he emerged from that pleasurable fugue state that follows really good sex to find she was watching him, her expression unreadable. "What?"

She smiled, and sat up, modestly holding the sheet to cover herself. "I'd better go," she said as she reached for her bra.

Jeff bit the inside of his cheek so he didn't say something incredibly stupid, like _stay_. "This doesn't mean I'm conceding the parking spot," he said instead.

"I never thought it did," she said, slipping into her underwear. The rest of her clothes, he remembered, were strewn throughout his living room. She leaned across the bed to kiss his cheek, and just that gentle contact made his breath pick up. He lowered his gaze, confused and distracted, and Annie smiled slyly. "Hostilities will recommence," she whispered, "in three... two... one..."

The pillows upside the head came as a surprise. He caught the second blow, though, and tugged the pillow from her grasp, throwing it behind him as he tackled her to the bed. "Oh, you're gonna pay for that," he promised. "You think I'll go easy on you because you're a woman? Think again. There's a reason they call me the gah no stop it!"

"That's a funny name," said Annie, who was apparently trained in judo and also tickling people to death with her tiny, pointy fingers. "Do they call you that often?" Wrapping his arms and legs around her, octopus-style, and rolling them both off the bed proved effective, and she was less inclined to struggle when she'd had the breath squished out of her. "Unfair advantage," she puffed.

"Hell yes. Do you submit?"

"Never!" She bit his shoulder.

"Oh, a biter, eh?" he said, trying to keep her contained. "Do you also scratch and pull hair?"

"Only if you ask nicely," she gritted out, and wriggled free, scrambling for the door. Jeff lay on his bedroom floor in a tangle of sheets and watched her go, grinning to himself. She put her head back around the doorframe with her clothes in hand, stuck out her tongue, and whisked herself away again before the balled-up sock he threw could connect.

But after the door slammed shut on the tail of her "See you around, Jeff!", his smile faded. This, he thought gloomily, was probably going to be messy.

It turned out he was about 1000% correct, just not for the reason he'd expected.

\---

He didn't consciously try to avoid her. It was genuinely a coincidence that, over the next couple of weeks, he had a case coming to trial, a difficult client to schmooze, and Alan was doing that unsubtle smirking-behind-Jeff's-back thing that meant he was brewing trouble of some kind. He went out drinking with Alan a couple of times in an effort to defuse whatever it was, but the damn man was keeping his cards close to his chest. It couldn't last – Alan didn't have the patience for a long game, so whatever it was would break over Jeff's head soon – but for the time being it was really annoying.

So he was preoccupied, and really not thinking about Annie at all when he opened his door to go for his Saturday morning run. He really wasn't expecting to be greeted by a ringing slap, delivered with considerable force.

He stumbled back, clutching his cheek. "What the hell?! That really hurt!"

Annie stood in the doorway, hands on hips, and he realized that he'd never seen her truly angry – until now. "You bastard," she said, her tone cold and even. "You creepy, manipulative _bastard_. How dare you?"

"Hey, don't act so pleased to see me, people will—"

She took a step forward, and Jeff moved back, actually a little scared of what she might do. "If you so much as come near me again, I'll report you to the homeowner's association for harassment, and fraud, and money laundering, and grand theft auto, and – and lewd acts with a domesticated animal!"

"You're crazy," he said flatly. "What, a guy doesn't call you and suddenly he ought to be tarred and feathered?"

"Call me? _Call me_?" Annie laughed – a little crazily, it had to be said. "You think you can just call me and I'll come running, is that it?"

Jeff held up his hands. "Look, Annie—"

"DON'T YOU DARE 'ANNIE' ME!" She stepped forward and poked him hard in the chest. "After what you did, I wouldn't sleep with you again if my life depended on it!"

He was starting to get a bad feeling about this. He narrowed his eyes. "What I did? What exactly did I do? Berate me in more detail."

"Oh, don't pretend you don't know," she scoffed. "What, you thought, just because you didn't have to date me to get into my pants, that I'd be happy to be passed on to your friends when you were done? Because let me enlighten you: you might be hot, but I don't WANT to date you! I could see from a mile off that you're a shallow, messed up scumbag with all the depth and emotional maturity of a Michael Bay movie!"

Jeff could feel the anger crawling up his back. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to speak calmly. "What. Friends?"

"I know, I'm amazed you have any at all, too! Some dipstick called Alan was the one to approach me in a bar last night – should I expect any others? I need to know if I have to stock up on mace."

Jeff threw back his head and groaned angrily, glaring at the ceiling. "Oh, for... I should have known." He grabbed her shoulders. "Look. Alan is NOT a friend. He's an asshole and a colleague – mainly the former – and I didn't tell him anything about you. However he found out about—" He waved between them, "this, it wasn't from me." He shook her gently, seeing she didn't believe him. "I swear it, Annie, on my Lexus. I may be shallow and messed up, but I wouldn't do that."

"Right. Like I should believe you," she said. "You'd say anything to weasel out of a nasty scene." But she didn't sound completely certain.

"Well, that's probably true," he admitted. "But how about this: I would never tell Alan because I'd never want to give that slime mold any kind of hold over me?" Annie stared at him for a painfully long moment, and he found himself willing her to believe him – to believe _in_ him. "I swear, you won't hear a single suggestive word from any of my actual friends – and I'm going to have a conversation with Alan. Maybe break a finger or two," he added, grimly. "He won't bother you again, I promise. You believe me, right?"

Annie stepped back, pulling out of his hold. "I... I don't know," she said. "I'm not sure I trust myself to decide right now. Just leave me alone for a while, okay? I'll talk to you again when I'm ready – _if_ I'm ready."

"Okay. Okay," said Jeff, relieved beyond belief that she was at least considering it.

"And if I find out for definite that you're lying, I will totally follow through with my plan to key your car," she added.

"Right. Fair enough. But you won't have to, because I'm not," said Jeff.

Annie nodded, and stepped back. She pressed her lips together, biting the bottom one, regarding him steadily – and then turned and left as abruptly as she'd arrived.

\---

Jeff's conversation with Alan consisted of ten words and a lot of looming. Alan got the picture. He might not have been the smartest lawyer in the firm, but he could at least recognize a class three misdemeanor 18-3-206 when he saw it, and had no desire to see it escalated to a class five felony.

Annie wasn't speaking to him. In the meanwhile, Jeff left her alone, studiously avoided parking in the number 12 spot even when it was empty, and gave up dropping his weights in the morning. He might be an asshole, but he wasn't THAT kind of asshole. 

A fortnight later, he nearly choked on a mouthful of coffee when he heard three heavy thuds from the floor below. He made his way down to her condo, and knocked cautiously on the door. Annie opened it, looking calm. "This isn't…"

"A booty call? No," she said. "But I thought that would be the fastest way to get you down here. Come on in. I thought you should be here for this."

Jeff stepped inside, and stopped abruptly. "What are YOU doing here?!"

Alan glared at him around the handkerchief he was holding to his bloody nose. "Winger," he said. "I should have known you'd – ow ow ow!"

Annie examined the handkerchief she'd taken away from him. "I think it's stopped bleeding," she said dispassionately, and walked away towards her bathroom.

"What the hell did you do, Alan?" demanded Jeff. 

"What did _I_ do? Ask your kung-fu fighting piece of ass what _she_ did!" complained Alan, gesturing at his nose.

"Okay, one, I learned that in my boxercise class, and you deserved it," said Annie, returning, "and two, I'm not his piece of ass – or anyone's," she added, looking dangerous. Alan took a step back. Annie rolled her eyes and turned away, laying out a few items on her breakfast bar, including the bloodied handkerchief, a box of disposable gloves, and a small pair of scissors.

Jeff clenched his fists. "Alan," he said. "Need I remind you of our little discussion?"

"No – NO." Alan pointed at him. "I'm not going to be intimidated by you any more, Winger. I know your dirty little secret! If you come near me, I'll tell the partners that you've been consorting with a known prostitute – and this little bitch better hope I don't sue her for everything she owns!" He put a hand to his nose and glared at Annie, who continued her preparations as if she hadn't heard. It looked like she was cutting up the handkerchief.

Jeff felt a strange, detached calm descend over him. "What. Did. You. Say?"

"Oh, don't try to play coy! I know all about her arrest record, and the lawyer who – so conveniently! – got her off. And I bet she got you off in return," he added, sleazily. "That's why you didn't like it when I started sniffing around this cheap Dita Von Teese knockoff. You didn't want me messing up your cozy little arrangement!"

"I'll miss you, Alan," said Jeff, his voice sounding strange to himself. "But I think it's time we said goodbye, don't you?" He stepped forward.

Alan moved back. "Oh, I'm not going anywhere, Winger." He laughed nastily. "Not unless you want all the evidence to land on Ted's desk, first thing tomorrow." 

Jeff had come up short at the word 'evidence'. "You've got nothing, because there's nothing to get," he said, but without conviction – if nothing else, he wouldn't put it past Alan to manufacture whatever 'evidence' he needed.

"Oh, I've got everything I need to ruin you and this—"

"He's not going to tell anyone anything," Annie interrupted calmly. She was shaking a little bottle of pale green liquid, peering at it in the light. "Not if he wants me to keep quiet about his drug habit." She shook her head at Alan, tutting. "Cocaine, Alan? How very 80s of you."

Alan laughed – but it sounded, to Jeff's trained ear, a little less confident. "So? I do blow, who in the hell cares?"

"Well, I don't know," she said, thoughtfully. "How about the partners at your law firm?" Annie turned to Jeff. "What's company policy on the misuse of schedule II drugs?"

Jeff, who was staring at her in amazement, pulled himself together and gave it some thought. Alan's partying was hardly a well-kept secret, and he had to assume that, if the partners wanted to deal with it, they would already have done so. They were more likely to hush up any complaints – which could go badly for Annie. "Well," he temporized, "maybe not them. But the Colorado Bar Association might have something to say about it."

"Oh, nice," said Annie, approvingly.

Alan's incipient smirk disappeared. "Whoa! Not cool, Winger, not cool!"

Jeff pinned him with a glare. "Why are you here, Alan? I never really caught that. Would you care to explain?"

"He was here to offer me a deal," said Annie, when Alan didn't respond. "He wouldn't publicize my arrest if I gave him, and I quote, 'some of what Winger's getting'."

"You know, maybe you should be flattered," suggested Alan, sounding offended. "It was a pretty sweet deal." 

Jeff found he had Alan's collar in his grip, and wondered distantly how much it was going to hurt when he punched Alan. He'd heard that it wasn't as easy as the movies made it look. But it was gonna be worth it.

The red haze receded with the snap of Annie's gloves. She discarded them in the trash, and gave Alan a mocking look. "He's not going to do anything," she said. "He's bluffing. We hold all the cards, and he knows it." She looked at Jeff, and he could see the hard glint in her eyes. "Let him go – he's not worth it."

"But _you_ got to punch him," he pointed out. "How come I'm not allowed?"

Annie shrugged, smirking a little. "Sometimes life's unfair like that," she said.

"Hey, no one's going to punch me," said Alan, annoyed. "You're going to—"

"We're going to do precisely nothing," snapped Annie. "Get out of here now, and leave both of us alone, and I won't ruin your career. It's your choice. And you might want to think about joining NA," she added.

"You wouldn't dare," blustered Alan.

"Try me," said Annie. Jeff nodded.

"Yeah, try her," he agreed, giving Alan a quick shake before letting him go. "Please? I'd love to see it. You have no idea what this woman is capable of doing."

Alan stared from Jeff to Annie and back again. "You traitor," he hissed. "You pathetic, ordinary... _man_! You could've been great – you could have been a legend, man! But now you've got your dick in a knot over some chick… Does she let you do the weird stuff, is that it?" He looked Annie up and down, and Jeff abruptly lost patience with the conversation.

"Okay, that's it, I'm gonna kick your ass," he said, striding towards Alan. Alan skipped backwards, evading him.

"This isn't over, Winger – you might have got me now, but I'll be back again, when you least—" Jeff sped up, and Alan gave up on talking and fled, crashing into the door in his haste to get away. Jeff chased him briefly down the hall, and then slowed to a stop and let him go. 

He turned around and strolled back into Annie's apartment, and she looked up from pouring the green liquid down her sink. "He got away?" she asked.

"I'm a lover not a fighter," shrugged Jeff. 

"Probably for the best," she conceded. "I have to admit, though, I would have loved to see you take him down."

Jeff rubbed his hand over his face. "Sorry," he said tightly.

Annie shrugged. "Actually, now I really do believe that you wouldn't have told that asshole anything about me. I'm amazed you talk to him at all. He's a complete idiot – I can't believe he actually thought his plan would work out." He watched as she put the ruined handkerchief into a plastic baggie, which she sealed and stowed in the vegetable crisper drawer of her fridge. Then she snagged two beers, one of which she handed to him. 

"Still, it's my fault. He did this to get at me. He's been after me for a while now, because for some reason he thinks he stands a chance to make partner if I'm out of the way – he doesn't seem to get that half the partners hate him because he's a weasel, and the other half hate him because he's fucking amateur hour. So, I guess somehow he figured out there was something going on with me, and that you might be… a weakness he could exploit." He picked at the beer label, not meeting her eyes. "I don't know why he thought that," he muttered.

"Look, Jeff, believe me, I've worked with some real douchebags in my time, and if I was held to account for everything they did, I'd go crazy. We just have to face the fact that some people are assholes." She sighed. "This wasn't fun, but it wasn't your fault, either, and it's handled now, so let's just… forget about it. At least I got to punch Alan," she added brightly. 

Jeff nodded. "I'll drink to that," he said, and they each took a sip. Jeff watched her over the top of his bottle. "So," he said. "You and me… Truce?" 

Annie smiled and clinked her bottle against his. "Truce," she said.

\---

It was five days since he'd last seen her. This time, he wasn't avoiding her because she'd asked him to leave her alone, but because he wasn't sure what else he could do. He had spring cleaned his condo, audited his wardrobe (he threw out a few shirts and a couple of suits that weren't quite living up to their potential), gone to work (Alan was delightfully subdued), gone to the gym, gone shopping (to replenish the new gaps in his wardrobe), lay on his couch all Sunday lazily marathoning whatever movies came on (Guys and Dolls, Enchanted, As Good As It Gets, Down With Love, and the Joss Whedon version of Much Ado About Nothing) until he felt like his TV was trying to tell him something... but what? What was he missing?

Okay, he wasn't fooling anyone, least of all himself. He knew what he was missing. He just wasn't sure what he was supposed to do about it. She'd been pretty clear about not wanting to date him, and although he was hoping that anger had been the driving force behind most of her words, he couldn't help but think she was right. He _was_ shallow and messed up, and although he was also devastatingly handsome, he wasn't exactly love's young dream. And besides which, he wasn't even sure that he wanted a relationship, with her or anyone. Wouldn't that open him up to a world of hurt?

But by the end of five days, he was pretty sure that he had to do _something_ , because he was about to go completely out of his gourd.

So here he was. He knocked on Annie's door, and straightened his tie, and realized to his horror that he didn't know what expression he should be wearing. Should he smile wryly, acknowledging all the awkwardness and artificiality of the situation – or should he smile earnestly and risk looking like a moron? Should he keep a straight face and act as though he didn't know her? Christ, this was so hard!

Then she opened the door, and he forgot all about his face. He was on. "Hi!" he said, and cleared his throat because that had come out seriously pitchy. "Hi. I'm Jeff. I live upstairs." He stuck out his hand, and she stared at him, and then it, and then tentatively reached out to shake it. "I just thought I'd drop by, you know, introduce myself to the new neighbor." He smiled. It felt weird on his face. Dammit, he should have gone with not-smiling.

"Jeff, what are you doing?" She looked bewildered.

Jeff shook his head. "Just go with it," he begged, breaking character for a moment. Then he pulled himself together. "So, um, listen, this is probably a little sudden, but I've noticed you around – you know, since you moved in – and I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner with me? I know this great place, Monty's," he added hastily, in case she thought it was a proposition. "They do the best steaks you've ever eaten."

"Like a date?" she asked, dubiously.

"Amazingly like a date," he confirmed. "So much like a date that you might, in fact, actually call it a date. That was what I was planning on calling it. What d'you say?"

Annie stared at him for a long moment. Jeff kept his grin in place, but it was starting to feel like a rictus. Finally she dropped her eyes. "Jeff," she said. "Um, this is really sweet, but we probably shouldn't." Jeff let the grin morph into a grimace. "Look, we both know that we're not really in the same place, emotionally-speaking," she said.

"Is this the tactful alternative to 'you have the emotional depth of a Michael Bay movie'?"

Annie smiled wryly, and looked at him. "I really like you, Jeff," she said softly. "Despite—"

"Ack! Please don't pity me or I might have to kill myself."

"—your amazing jerkitude. Or because of it, maybe; I don't know, I've always had a thing for bad boys. And that's why I can't, okay? It's not a good idea for me. Do you understand?"

Jeff was in the midst of two epiphanies. One was that she genuinely seemed to like him and yet she still didn't want to date him, which meant that he was so irretrievably broken that even someone like Annie couldn't overlook it. And the second was that he really, really wanted her to feel more than friendship towards him because something in her reached out and tugged at something in him that he was profoundly uncomfortable admitting existed.

God, he was so, SO screwed.

"Mmph." He ran a hand through his hair. "I understand. For what it's worth, you probably made the right choice."

There was an uncomfortable silence. "We're okay, right?" She gave him a kind of chin tucked, hopeful eyebrows, big-eyed look, and he found he couldn't say no to it.

"Yeah," he sighed. "We're okay." She smiled brightly, suddenly looking very young and carefree. Jeff, in contrast, felt ancient, jaded and cynical. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to find some ants, a couple of thumbscrews and a flail for the 'unsuccessfully asked someone out' ceremony," he said. "So... I'll see you around."

"Jeff!" She grabbed his arm as he turned to go. "Look, don't be a stranger, will you? I really do want to be your friend." She tilted her head. "Being enemies with you is too much hard work."

She was looking at him so earnestly that he couldn't help but smile. "You're a good person, Annie Edison," he said gruffly, and leaned forward to kiss her forehead, firmly quashing the impulse to linger. "Friends, and no regrets. Plus now I get to do the nobly-suffering-a-broken-heart thing, which should get me laid like crazy."

"Ugh!" She moved back and smacked his chest. "Have I mentioned recently that you're a pig?"

He waggled his eyebrows at her, and turned to stroll away, putting an extra air of cockiness in his stride. He'd be damned if he'd let her feel sorry for him.

"Just keep the noise down, neighbor!" she called after him.

"Yeah, yeah." He waved a careless hand.

Chicks. Who needed them? Who needed a _girlfriend_? Not Jeff Winger. No, he was a lone wolf, he was a shark, he was the baboon with the biggest, reddest ass – he didn't need a woman to tie him down and be all like "how was your day darling?" and "I've scheduled some sex for tonight" and "let's get married and have three kids and a dog". He was better off alone, free to pick up beautiful women in bars and have the most meaningless sex imaginable, and then never see them again. That was the life, right – that was living the dream? He was the luckiest man alive.

Yaaaay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't kill me! I s2g, I started this with the intention of having a happy ending, and I even wrote one – but it just didn't feel right. It didn't feel _earned_. Jeff hasn't really grown all that much, and Annie is so far ahead of him right now, it felt totally wrong for her to say "yes". One thing Dan Harmon got right is not giving Jeff an easy way out, and never letting him find an easy fix that didn't backfire badly. But I promise there's a sequel in the works!


End file.
